


In Sickness and In Health

by Delia_Maguire



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Bad Weather, But he's trying, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Chuck Is A Troublemaker, Cold Weather, Glader Slang, Hypothermia, In the Maze, M/M, Mama Newt, Minho Is A Bad Keeper, Minor Original Character(s), Oblivious Thomas, One Shot, Overworking, Painkillers, Rain, Self-Care Who?, Sickfic, Thomas Doesn't Know Her, Thomas is an Idiot, sassy thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Maguire/pseuds/Delia_Maguire
Summary: Sure, the sudden rainstorm sucked and Thomas couldn't exactly feel all the parts of his body anymore - But Minho looked so hopeful... He could survive a little cold, Right? Wrong.





	In Sickness and In Health

The sensation of something cold and wet splattering against his cheek roused Thomas from his slumber at some ungodly hour of the morning if the dimly lit darkness still settled over the Glade was anything to go by.

“Min, you're drooling on me.” The Runner muttered irritably into his plush pillow before rolling onto his side to escape any further advances on his beautyrest, needing every minute he could get his greedy hands on before the sun crested the horizon and the dreaded dawn would be upon them.

Thomas had abandoned his previous sleeping spot near Chuck in favor of laying with the other Runners after Minho had asked him to do so, though the conversation had to be the crown of Thomas’s list of “Most awkward moments. Ever.”

Even if Thomas only remembered a few weeks back, the imaginary list had grown rather quickly and Minho screaming “Thomas, I need you to sleep with me!” at the top of his lungs from across the Glade had definitely made the cut.

After some much needed clarification, Minho explained that he believed sleeping as a group would be beneficial to group bonding, creating a fellowship among the Runners and giving them a much needed moral boost - Thomas would've wholeheartedly agreed, if it weren't for the fact that the rest of his fellow runners seemed intent on never laying their sleeping bags down near him.

A kid had tried once, setting up their sleeping spot directly to Thomas's right, since the grassy area to his left was always taken up by Minho. Thomas didn't know why -  Maybe he snored? Maybe he threw punches in his sleep? - But the only one near him the following morning was an inexplicably smug looking Minho; and ever since then, the other boys always stayed clear of him at night, sticking to the area on the other side of the Asian as if the Keeper were some kind of barrier between him and the rest of the Runners.

Another cool drop fell upon Thomas's warm cheekbone, the chilly sensation sending shivers down the boy’s spine as he growled out another protest. “Minho, I swear, if you don't let me get some shucking sleep, I’ll feed your nuts to a Griever!” The brunette snarled angrily, pulling his deliciously warm blanket up to shield his face from the onslaught of supposive saliva to no avail. A frigid drop hit his hair, another smacked against his eyebrow.

“Minho!” Thomas finally snapped, throwing his soft covers from his body as he shot straight up into a sitting position, ready to glare daggers into his asshole of a friend, scowling gaze already locked on where the older boy usually slept right beside him. Except… He ended up glaring at mud and dew speckled blades of grass, still smooshed down into a Keeper-shaped indent.

Another icy droplet plopped onto the confused boy's forehead as he gazed questioningly at the imprint of his companion in groggy confusion, too tired to process the unexpected lack of Minho. Thomas turned his gaze skyward after a long moment as the haze of sleep began to lift from him, warded off by the cold sensation of water splashing down on him.

The usually crystal clear sky of the Glade was suffocated by a thick layer of swirling gray clouds, blotting out the sun and leaving a murky haze of darkness lingering over the world. This wouldn't have bothered Thomas in the slightest, bad weather being the least of his concerns when they were trapped in a lab rat’s maze infested with monstrosities beyond his worst nightmares, if it wasn't for Chuck barreling into him, screaming about how the world was obviously ending.

“Thomas! It's raining!” Chuck wailed, fear lacing his high pitched voice as he slammed into the older boy, sending the runner stumbling back a few paces and effectively knocking every ounce of air out of his lungs.

“Yes, Chuckie, I noticed. I know, for whatever reason, you seem to be under the impression I'm blind - but fear not! The rain has cured me! I can see!” Thomas scoffed lightly, ruffling the kid’s hair affectionately and snickering slightly as the chunky boy huffed irritably at the smart response.

“No! You don't get it!” Chuck wailed unhappily, stomping his foot angrily into the muddy earth underfoot as the rain began to pick up. No longer did small drips dare to plip to the ground only once every few minutes, now the water fell steadily down upon the Glade in sheets.  

“Sure I do! Water evaporates and forms clouds, then-” Thomas rambled off, trying not to get caught up on how odd it was that he could remember random scientific facts yet couldn’t picture what his own mother might look like.

“It never rains in the Glade!” Chuck spat abruptly, cutting Thomas’s science lesson short as he pathetically held his hands over his head in a vain attempt to remain dry.

“Never?” Thomas repeated incredulously, taken aback by the oddity of the claim as he quirked a questioning eyebrow at his friend.

“Never!” Chuck restated eagerly, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The weather doesn't change here. It's always sunny. The temperature doesn't even fluctuate!” Chuck rambled intelligently, looking proud at knowing something Thomas didn't.

“Where's Minho? It's not like that shuckface to let me oversleep. Not Mr. Who-Needs-Sleep-Not-Thomas-Obviously.” Thomas questioned distractedly, gazing around the Glade to see the other boys cowering under makeshift shelters and staring fearfully toward the sky.

“I think he and the other Runners are in the Map Room.” Chuck informed the other male. “Not saying I was eavesdropping or anything,” The boy continued, earning a incredulous scoff and an elaborate eye roll from his companion.

“If you, Chuckie the troublemaker, weren't eavesdropping, then I'm Queen Elizabeth.” Thomas interrupted jovially, swatting the smaller boy in the back of the head with an open palm playfully as he spoke.

“Ow! Fine then, your majesty, I was just trying to warn you that your boyfriend sounded angry! I was helping you!” Chuck protested grumpily, stalking indignantly away from the Runner with a huff and a muttered “ingrate” that Thomas would have to get him back for later.

“Over what?” Thomas questioned after the boy, receiving not but double middle fingers thrown behind his friend’s back, the boy not even bothering to turn around. Then Thomas's brain caught up with the rest of the statement. “Hey! Wait, he's not my boyfriend, you brat!” The brunette protested defensively but Chuck merely snickered before breaking into a run in case Thomas decided to come after him.

“I'll get him for that later.” Thomas mumbled to no one in particular as he turned away and began making his way to the Map Room, deciding finding Minho and getting some actual information took priority over tormenting the youngest Glader. However, the slick, muddy ground underfoot kindly relieved him of that obligation as he caught the unbecoming sound of Chuck squealing at the top of his lungs before the dull thump of the kid’s chunky body hitting the earth underfoot could be heard.

Thomas broke into a light jog in an attempt to escape the icy rain a little bit quicker; but considering his clothes were already soaked through, he didn't really see why he bothered. Nevertheless, the teen kept up the quickened pace and soon skidded to a haphazard halt in front of the Map Room door, nearly crashing through it as he was no better at maneuvering the new terrain than Chuck.

“Do your eyes work? Hello? We're not going out there when it's like this!” A voice Thomas didn't recognize could be heard through the thin wood as the brunette reached out to grab the handle and let himself inside. _I agree with that guy_ Thomas thought begrudgingly to himself but a foreboding feeling beginning to settle in his gut assured him it was most definitely not going to be that simple as he pulled open the wooden barrier.

“Finally!” Minho huffed, exasperation evident in his voice as Thomas stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him, relishing the feeling of not being pelted with arctic water for two seconds.

Thomas frowned and bit his lip uncertainly, lowering his gaze slightly as he thought Minho’s declaration implied he was irritated with the boy for being late but when his eyes actually fell on the Asian he was surprised to see the Keeper looked genuinely pleased by his arrival.

“Finally..?” Thomas prompted tentatively as he came to realize he wasn't in trouble, shifting uncomfortably when the other Runners’ eyes fell on him. Every person in the shuck room was gazing at him expectantly for some inexplicable reason.

“Finally someone who's not a shucking coward.” Minho elaborated, though the explanation was entirely unhelpful as the Keeper had still failed to provide a single piece of actual information.

“We're not cowards! We're just not idiots!” A short boy with long auburn hair tied back in a bun protested defensively and Thomas recognized the voice he'd heard before entering the Map Room.

“The weather has never changed before! Who knows what this could mean?” Minho bit back angrily, his voice rising in pitch as he gestured enthusiastically about himself, as if flailing his limbs wildly would convince the other boys of his argument’s superiority.

“It means it's cold. And wet.” The kid with auburn hair replied sourly, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest as every other guy in the room nodded their agreement.

“Fine. We don't need you worthless shanks anyway!” Minho declared, throwing up his arms in a show of defeated exasperation and rolling his eyes dramatically.

Thomas was getting the sinking feeling he knew who “we” referred to.

“Thomas will go with me, right Thomas?” Minho asserted suddenly, turning his gaze expectantly to the boy in question, not surprising anyone in the slightest.

 _No. Absolutely shucking not._ Is what any logical individual possessing something even akin to a functioning brain would've said, but the Keeper was staring at the brunette with such confidence and surety that Thomas had no choice but to reluctantly relinquish his claim on intelligence.

“F-For sure! Yeah! Of course, this data is gonna be like, so valuable.” Thomas stuttered out unhappily, but Minho grinned from ear to ear, shooting him a beaming smile that was definitely worth signing his own death sentence, or anyone else's for that matter, so it was basically the best decision Thomas had ever made.

“I knew I could always count on you, Tomboy!” Minho whooped victoriously, moving across the room to punch Thomas affectionately in the arm and ruffle the slightly shorter boy's hair happily as if he hadn't been glaring down his Runners like he wanted to rip their dicks off mere moments ago.

“Yep! That's me, Mr. Reliable.” Thomas agreed slowly, reluctantly trailing Minho as the Asian pushed open the front door of the Map Room and led them into the frigid world beyond.

The rain had only gotten worse in the few minutes Thomas had spent in the blissful embrace of the dry indoors. Now, the water roared down from the angry clouds overhead with vengeance, the sky a great, sobbing beast drowning the world below in its sorrow.

The endless sheets of rain impaired Thomas’s vision drastically, water catching in his long lashes and blinding him, which resulted in him running into Minho exactly 16 different times by the time they’d gathered their running gear and stood before the entrance to the Maze.

This had to be the worst decision anyone had ever made. Thomas’s clothes clung tightly to his body, heavy with water and already beginning to weigh him down. His short untamed hair lay pressed flat against his skull and the limp strands plopped frigid droplets onto his face every few seconds. Aside from that, the boy was freezing, already beginning to shudder slightly as the icy claws of the rain spread through his limbs and chilled him to the core despite his best attempts to warm himself by rubbing his hands against his goosebump covered arms.

However, when the teen glanced over at Minho, waiting for the Keeper to give the signal to run, all he saw was determination. The Asian’s eyes blazed fiercely as he eyed the corridor beyond the stone entrance they stood before, conviction smoldering in dark orbs and, stronger than that, the faint glimmer of hope - And Thomas knew he’d go along with whatever ludicrous plan the Keeper wanted, no matter how stupid it may be.

Minho turned toward the younger boy, glancing at his companion briefly to shoot him a quick, ridiculous smirk, before turning back toward the stone hellhole they worked in. The Keeper nodded his head stiffly once and they were off like a shot.

Their footsteps, usually loud and echoing, were barely audible over the dulling sheets of rain, as if someone had laid a thick blanket over the world to muffle any sound. It made it difficult for Thomas to match his pace to his running partner’s as he usually relied mostly on sound to align himself to the older boy, matching his breath to the steady sound of Minho’s and letting his feet fall instep with the dull thump of the Asian’s boots colliding with the stone underfoot. Because of this, for once Thomas decided it might be better to trail the older boy rather than stick directly at his side as he usually did and he let himself fall into his companion’s wake.

 _Don’t stare at his ass. Don’t you dare stare at his shucking ass, Thomas, I swear to god. Hetero thoughts, buddy, you can do this._ Thomas told himself stubbornly despite the fact that he most certainly could not do this - It wasn’t his fault Minho had a bubble butt that bounced as he ran and Thomas was only human after all.

They went on like this for hours, Thomas progressively regretting his decision to follow his friend out here more and more with each passing moment. Despite the poor conditions, Minho wasn’t cutting him any slack and, if anything, Thomas was 100% sure they were going at least twice as fast as usual. It was understandable since the pair had to run, not only their own assigned section, but also make up for the rest of their more sensible companions back in the Glade but, god, Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if his abused body decided to revolt against him by the time this was over. Every muscle screamed for a reprieve he couldn’t offer and the teen was beginning to ache in places he didn’t even know existed before today by the time Minho finally slowed and signaled it was time for a break.  

Thomas practically collapsed against the cool stone wall the moment his companion came to a halt, ignoring everything Minho had ever taught him about easing down slowly from a run, too exhausted to care. The brunette's chest ached as if it were on fire and his lungs wailed for mercy as he dropped his ass to the wet floor and tipped his head back against the ivy covered walls, gulping in huge gasping breaths, yet still feeling as if he couldn’t possibly get enough oxygen in.

Minho flopped down at his side a moment later, though Thomas doubted he would’ve even noticed his friend's arrival if it weren't for the fact that the Asian thrust something akin to a ham sandwich directly under his nose the moment he sat down.

Thomas merely blinked at the offer in disgust, the bread was soggy from the rain pouring down upon it even now and watered down mayonnaise dripped from the corners of the meal, creating something that the boy would’ve labeled “ham flavored mush” before “ham sandwich.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Thomas declined politely, struggling to keep his internal gagging from his voice as he pushed Minho’s arm away, eager to get that monstrous excuse for food away from his face as quickly as possible. Thomas watched in utter horror as the Keeper eyed him momentarily, something akin to concern swimming in his dark eyes, before the older boy shrugged and bit into the moist monstrosity.

“You have to eat something, shuckface.” Minho informed him scoldingly, the words muffled around “ham flavored mush” (Thomas decidedly refused to call it a sandwich.) “Apple?” The Keeper tried, rummaging inside his bag momentarily before producing the fruit in question and holding it out to Thomas, the shiny red skin glinting appetizingly even in the dull light - Which is why it surprised Thomas that he didn’t desire the thing in the slightest.

“ ‘M not hungry.” The Runner replied truthfully, eyeing the fruit still clasped in the Keeper’s hand critically, trying to muster up an appetite for the thing to no avail. Usually, by the time the other male finally let them stop and rest, Thomas was ravenous, and the brunette knew for a fact that they’d gone on longer than usual without pausing for lunch today. So,he was clueless as to why his stomach now twisted sickeningly at the thought of consuming anything. He blamed it on the haunting sight of ham-flavored-mush.

A frown played on Minho’s lips and he began to lower his ham-flavored-mush from his still wide open mouth for some inexplicable reason. Thomas would’ve thought the Keeper looked worried if he didn’t know any better but he immediately reached out and grabbed the apple nevertheless, wanting the sudden distressed look to disappear from his friend’s face and never return.

“Good boy.” Minho praised jovially, ruffling the younger teen’s hair and sending chilly raindrops flying everywhere from the scruffy strands in the process. The Keeper then immersed himself in his disgusting excuse of a lunch and Thomas reluctantly brought the fruit to his lips and bit into the juicy flesh. The sweetness that exploded over his taste buds made the brunette want to recoil from the thing and spit out the one tiny bite he had taken and wash his mouth out with bleach; but before he could even consider it, he caught Minho subtly watching him out of the corner of his eye and reluctantly he was forced to abandon the idea.

Thankfully, Minho pushed himself to his feet a few minutes later, signaling the break was over, and Thomas was able to sneak the barely eaten fruit into his bag without the guy noticing before coming to stand beside him.

If Thomas thought the first half of the day had been miserable, he was so, unbelievably, wrong. It was a walk in the shucking park compared to round two. His muscles were already sore from the overtime they’d been forced through and his body heat had long since given up on combating the chill of the dreary day. He hurt with every step, he’d lost feeling in his frigid fingers hours ago, and he truthfully wasn’t even sure he had toes anymore. Honestly, if the ground could so kindly just open up under his feet and swallow him whole, that would be great, thanks.

Minho ran them relentlessly, never slowing or showing signs of the tugging weight of exhaustion Thomas himself felt practically suffocated under. The younger boy was sure the Asian had to be some kind of mer-man. It was the only explanation for his apparent immunity to the rain. Thomas could barely see through the thick strands of sopping wet hair falling into his eyes while the older boy’s hair was still styled into a gravity defying swoosh for shucks sake, as if the gallons of water drowning them simply didn’t exist. It was impossible.

With Minho leading them through the seventh inner circle of hell and back, Thomas had no clue how he made it back to the Glade alive - Well, if you could really call his current state of being alive that was. Every fiber of his being throbbed with a dull, burning pain, as if he were a walking nerve cell as he stumbled through the stone walls of the Glade with an audible sigh of relief.

Each step felt like it was petitioning to be his last as the Runner slowly made his way over to his sleeping spot on the ground, waving off Minho as the Asian shot him some parting words Thomas couldn’t exactly make out through the haze of exhaustion that hung over him nor really cared enough to try to.

The teen didn’t even bother to swing by the kitchen and grab some dinner, despite the fact that Chuck had been telling him about how much he’d been looking forward to tonight's meal for weeks, apparently it was Taco Tuesday or something equally ridiculous like that. Thomas didn’t remember and quite honestly didn’t care at the moment, Chuck could’ve told him Frypan was serving 24-carat gold for all it mattered and the Runner still would’ve opted to skip the meal. The thought of eating made him slightly queasy for some inexplicable reason and truthfully, he was so tired he doubted he could convince his worn muscles to even do something as simple as chew at the moment.

The only option the brunette really had was to head straight to bed, pulling himself reluctantly to where his soaked sleeping bag still lay exactly where he’d left it this morning. Momentary irritation at the realization that his night was going to be no drier than his day washed over Thomas but it left as quickly as it had come. His bedding was wet, the ground was wet, he was wet, everything was wet - So what did it really matter? Why didn’t he just become a fish, for shucks sake?

Begrudgingly, Thomas shimmied himself into the heavy, damp layers of his makeshift bed. The boy already knew every available building in the Glade would be crammed packed full of boys that needed the dryness more than him - Like Newt and his bum leg - And he wasn’t about to fight them for it. Cold and wet, he may be, an asshole he was not; so, the boy did his best to curl in on himself to preserve heat and fell asleep shivering under the endless onslaught of relentless rain.

Thomas never knew marching bands took gigs behind people’s eyes until Minho woke him the following morning and a bass drum solo began blasting in his skull. A constant dull throb coursed through the entirety of the Runner’s body as he attempted to push himself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it, the bass drums being replaced for sledge hammers striking directly between his eyes.

A whimper forced its way past the brunette’s lips against his will as he flopped back onto the grass, earning a confused look from Minho who stood directly above him looking unfairly good for two AM. The Asian looked as if constant rain - which had failed to stop in the night Thomas unfortunately noticed as the persistent icy drops pelted his already frigid skin  - didn’t bother him in the slightest. His thick, dark hair was still impeccably styled against gravity's hold and he looked practically energetic, dark eyes wide and attentive as he shifted about, impatiently waiting for his Runner to rise.

Thomas was preparing to repent for all his sins in a desperate attempt to be relieved of this ungodly agony, the confession of masturbating to thoughts of his Keeper already on the tip of his tongue when Minho grabbed him by both hands and hauled him upright.

“C’mon, Thomas, please tell me you’ve already grabbed breakfast. We gotta go!” Minho insisted excitedly, already tugging the boy along toward the looming entrance of the Maze before Thomas even had a chance to stutter out a reply.

The younger male didn’t know how Minho could have possibly thought he’d gotten breakfast since the Asian had obviously been the one to wake him up, but he was grateful for the oversight. The brunette’s stomach felt like it was a hairbreadth away from retreating out of the kid’s throat and the mere mention of food sent a heavy wave of nausea crashing down over him.

“Yep! Man, does Fry know how to cook an egg!” Thomas assured optimistically, ignoring the vision of grease bubbling in a pan the words brought to mind and the horrible knot the notion twisted his guts into.

“I thought we had pancakes today…” Minho trailed off, looking thoughtful as he paused in his tracks, but Thomas hurriedly ushered him onward.

“So, did any of the other Runner’s man up today?” Thomas questioned hopefully, half wanting to distract his friend so he didn't figure out the teen’s lie, half praying someone else could take his place today.

“Forget those shuckfaced shanks!” Minho scoffed irritably as the pair approached the ominous stone gateway leading to the endless paths of the Maze beyond, which was actually the exact opposite of the answer Thomas wanted. “At least I’ve got you, Tommy. You never let me down!” Minho declared happily, bumping his muscled shoulder affectionately into Thomas’s before breaking into a brisk jog and leading them into the stone corridor, which is why Thomas really had no choice but to force his tormented limbs into a run after him.

“We should split up today.” Minho suddenly informed the younger boy as they began to leave the safety of the Glade in their wake, causing the brunette to stumble slightly in surprise.

“A-Are you sure I’m ready for that?” Thomas questioned tentatively as he regained his balance and moved up to run beside the older boy, because he sure as hell wasn’t. He’d been a Runner for weeks now and he knew the time when he would have to split up from the Keeper and take his own section would come eventually, but, for some reason, the thought of actually doing so sat wrong with him. Admittedly, he liked running with Minho and the thought of maneuvering the lonely stone passageways without him sat like a stone in his chest, as if a weight rested against his heart.

“You’re way better than any of those other shanks.” Minho scoffed confidently and Thomas bit his lower lip uncertainly, trying his best not to feel too upset and failing miserably as his stomach twisted in horrible knots, and it wasn’t due to the thought of food this time.  

“Just until the others take their sections back.” Minho assured after a moment of quiet, sending waves of relief over Thomas that he stubbornly told himself he did not, in fact, feel.

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed eagerly, his lips tugging into a teasing smile as he spoke. “You know you’d be so lonely without me there to brighten your day!” The Runner claimed, earning himself a dramatic eye roll and a light shove that sent him stumbling to the side as he snickered at his own joke.

That was how Thomas ended up on the complete opposite side of the Maze from Minho, feet pounding dully against the stone floor and falling in line with the persistent throb of his migraine slamming incessantly behind his eyes. Aside from the splitting headache, Thomas's stomach had also decided to rise up and join the opposition, angry at not being fed and swirling dangerously as the boy forced his limbs into movement. His muscles screamed bloody murder with every, painstaking step and his small frame was wracked with violent shudders as he failed to warm himself.

Thomas was cold. He was so shucking cold. He literally had no Earthly idea one could possibly be this cold. The numb feeling that had settled over his digits the day before had progressively spread up through his limbs and throughout his body so that now Thomas felt nothing aside from the constant dull chill that settled over him and the burning ache of his tormented muscles.

Please, a Griever. Just send a shucking Griever to roll over him this very moment. That had to be better than this. He was shaking like a leaf, some might say, if they’d perhaps seen a leaf in a tornado. His entire body was wracked with the shudders, leaving him a trembling mess as he forced himself to keep running.

Keep running. He had to keep running. How disappointed would Minho be if Thomas told him he’d failed to search his section because of a little cold?  Well, the Runner sure as shit wasn’t about to find out. No shucking way. He had to keep running. Keep. Running. Keep Run… Keep R…Keep.. Ke.. Had the floor always been that close?

Thomas didn’t realize his body had been tipping forward and that the ground was flying up to greet him until his nose smashed into the hard Earth underfoot, sending hot waves of pain coursing through his body. The Runner grunted weakly, the only sound he was able to make as he tried to push himself back up, pressing his hands into the dirt as he tried vainly to lift his upper body from the stone.

A sharp pain exploded in his side, as if someone had lit a dagger on fire and twisted it into the flesh there. He’d cracked a rib. Great.

“Shuck!” Thomas hissed but the word came out as a scratchy whimper as he let his body flop heavily back to the floor, his vision becoming darker by the second and an obnoxiously loud ringing coming to drown out the roar of the rain.

Huh, so this is how he died. A lot less valiant than he would’ve hoped. Maybe, he’d have liked to jump heroically in front of a lion to save Minho. That’d been a good way to go out, maybe then his little crush on the Keeper wouldn’t seem so foolish. Instead, he was going to pass out here on the ground, be killed by Grievers, and his body would never be found. Nice.

Maybe minutes had passed, or maybe hours. It could've been centuries for all Thomas knew when he was roused into consciousness by the feeling of someone moving him.

“Shuck! Thomas, what the hell?” The boy thought he heard dimly, it was hard to tell over that shucking ringing in his ears but the voice definitely didn’t sound like what he expected God to at all. Not half as deep as he’d thought a celestial being’s booming voice should be.

There was the sensation of someone wrapping strong arms underneath him and Thomas was starting to get the feeling maybe he wasn’t dead but then the person lifted him, jostling his sore rib and suddenly he sorta wished he was. He thought he probably screamed, then he promptly blacked out once more.

Thomas drifted in and out of the sweet embrace of blissful darkness a few more times, only catching brief snippets of the world around him each time.

“Thomas, you’re gonna be okay.” Blackness.

“Just a little farther. ” Blackness.

“Thomas, please. You can’t do this to me.” Blackness.

“Thomas? Thomas, stay with me, okay? Don’t close your eyes.” Minho, it was Minho. Minho had him scooped up in his arms, carrying him. They were running. Thomas could feel the jostling movement of the Keeper’s hurried steps and heard his ragged breathing over the dull ringing that still plagued his senses. He tried to focus on those things, tried to do what Minho asked of him, really, he did, but it was hopeless and he barely caught the sound of Minho cursing in a panic laced voice before the world went dark again.

When Thomas woke up again the first thing he noticed was that he was dry. His mind was still hazy and his head still throbbed, but his body no longer shuddered involuntarily; and for the first time in two days, he wasn’t soaked to the bone.

As he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, the boy found himself to be in an actual bed, which meant he was either dead and in heaven or in one of the rooms on the upper level of the Homestead. The Runner really hoped it was the later of the two, for Minho had sounded near hysterical when Thomas was drifting in and out of consciousness and he really didn't want to hurt the older boy.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Someone’s voice could be heard from outside the door of Thomas’s room, muffled and difficult to place through the foggy cloud of confusion hanging over the teen. He wasn’t sure what kind of painkillers the Box brought to the Glader’s every month but, shuck, he felt like he was floating and nothing was making a whole lot of sense at the moment.

“No thanks to you.” Newt..? Sounded venomous, had to be Newt.

“Do you know what happened to him?” Minho, Thomas thought, but it could quite possibly also be Abraham Lincoln.

“What happened to him??” Oh yeah, that was definitely Mama Newt and he was fired up about something. Thomas pitied whoever had harmed one of Newt’s Glader babies, they wouldn’t be coming out of this unscarred.

“What happened was that some asshole, I won't name any names,” Here Newt paused to fake a cough. “Minho,” Another cough. “Was too concerned with his silly little maze to worry about his Runner or to stop and consider that, maybe, just maybe, running around in the rain for hours might be a little unhealthy!” Newt practically screeched, sending fearful tingles down Thomas’s spine. Even if he was a little too groggy to put meaning to Newt’s harsh words, he recognized the tone well and knew the consequences that would befall whatever poor unfortunate soul was on the receiving end of the conversation.

Then there was a long pause, in which Thomas finally managed to rouse himself into a state resembling sentience and he finally shook off the haze of painkillers and unconsciousness that engulfed his mind, allowing him to fully understand the world around himself once more.

“I did this?” Came Minho’s soft reply, the Keeper's voice so full of hurt and bewilderment that Thomas forced himself up into a sitting position, unwilling to let the Asian endure such feelings any longer. He was fine for shucks sake. Newt was overreacting.  

Thomas bit his lip against the hot surge of pain the action of sitting elicited, smothering back a hiss as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and pushed off the plush thing, stubbornly ignoring the way his head throbbed in protest. The Runner took one, single, stumbling step forward then promptly face planted, his legs buckling uncooperatively under his weight and sending him flailing to the floor with an unbecoming yelp.

Of course, the sound brought Minho rushing in, the Keeper slamming open the door and  staring around the room with pure terror written across his face as his dark eyes finally fell on the tangled mass of limbs that was his friend.

 _Yeah, way to show ‘em you’re fine, Thomas. I’m sure he feels so much better now._ An, oh so helpful, voice in the back of the brunette’s mind quipped.

Minho was on the ground by his side in an instant, visibly scanning his body for injuries before putting a strong arm around the kid and hauling him back upright.

Thomas barely caught sight of Newt shaking his head in the doorway before the blonde smirked knowingly and strolled away, leaving the Runner extremely confused as Minho helped him back onto the bed where he probably should've stayed in the first place.

“What were you doing, you idiot shuck faced shank?” Minho demanded fiercely, though Thomas might’ve felt a little more threatened if he couldn’t catch the obvious notes of concern lacing his friend's voice.  

“I,” Thomas began slowly, then paused at the sound of his own voice. It sounded scratchy, and sore, and _bad._ “I heard you and Newt.” The Runner finally continued, shaking off the thought with the theory that probably everything about him was bad at the moment if he looked half as crappy as he felt.

“No. That’s not what I’m asking.” Minho groaned exasperatedly, running his hands through his dark hair anxiously, catching Thomas off guard as he noticed that, for once, his companion’s hair was not styled to perfection but rather was an untamed mess, sticking up at odd angles  and laying flat in ways Thomas had never seen it do before.

“What did you…” Thomas began questioningly, unsure of what Minho was asking if it didn’t pertain to how he ended up on the floor a minute ago, but realization slowly began to dawn on him after a long moment of Minho gazing at him like he was completely ludicrous.

“I mean, why did I find my best friend laying half-dead on the shucking ground?” Minho elaborated in a growl but his voice wavered on the last word and Thomas could see the mask of anger beginning to melt away to reveal itself for the fear it truly was.

“Min, I’m sorry, really.” Thomas admitted truthfully, if he’d known overworking himself would result in Minho worrying this much he would’ve been more careful. “I just... You seemed so excited!” Thomas protested lamely. “I wanted you to find your way out.” The Runner mumbled softly, hanging his head as regret washed over him, making him feel far worse than the fatigue ever had.

“It wouldn’t mean shit if you weren't there.”  Minho insisted forcefully, cupping the smaller boy’s face and lifting the brunette’s head back up to get him to meet his gaze. “Don’t you get that? Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” The Asian demanded, his deep, dark orbs staring imploringly into Thomas’s own eyes, making the younger boy’s breath catch in his throat.

“You want to escape.” Thomas replied dumbly, his mind going blank at the feeling of Minho’s fingers brushing against his cheeks. God, the other male was _warm_. His hands felt like fire compared to the numbing cold Thomas had endured over the past couple of days.

“I want _us_ to escape.” Minho countered surely, leaning in toward the boy who had long since stopped breathing. The Keeper’s hot breath ghosted across the brunette’s quivering lips as he got closer and yep, it was official. Thomas must be dead. He was dead and in heaven because Minho was closing the distance between them, pushing his lips against Thomas’s and running his thumb along the boy’s cheekbone gently as he kissed him fiercely, moving his mouth against that of the stunned brunette who could do naught but let himself melt into the kiss.

Everywhere Minho touched him felt like it was on fire. Thomas’s lips burned, his cheeks felt like they were being licked by flames, the heat spread throughout his entire body until he could feel it in his toes. It was such a stark contrast from the numbing cold and icy rain that Thomas had all but become accustomed to and he reveled in it, wanting more. The Runner tangled his fingers into Minho’s usually styled hair, messing it up even further as he pulled the other boy closer to him, earning a pleased moan from the Asian as he complied, letting Thomas deepen the kiss.

“Wait!” Thomas suddenly yelped, pulling away from a bewildered looking Minho and slapping his hand over the confused Asian boy’s lips. “You can’t kiss me, I’ll get you sick!” Thomas explained quickly, erasing the brief moment of hurt that flashed over the older boy’s face.

Good thing Minho had never been good at listening.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ~ If you enjoyed, please leave comments :)


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